Parenthood
by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: Harry and Ginny must explain the war and what death means to James.


**Disclaimer:** **Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

**Parenthood.**

Harry Potter glanced at the black clock that was hanging on the crème colored wall opposite of him for what felt like the hundredth time in the last minute. He frowned, tapping his blue-feathered quill on a piece of parchment, flecks of black ink shooting in different directions.

He had five minutes until his lunch break. Five minutes until he would be able to pop into his house and join his children in the kitchen and watch his wife shimmy around the kitchen, whistling under her breath as she cooked.

Harry's stomach grumbled and he placed his quill down, groaning loudly. He was supposed to be writing a speech for the upcoming anniversary of the Second War, something he was coaxed into every year by the others around him.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the anniversary. Some days it felt like just yesterday he had been at Hogwarts, being carried by Hagrid up towards the castle and hearing the gasp from everyone he cared about that he was dead.

Most days it felt like another life. He could no longer imagine a life without his wife and kids. He could no longer think back to a life where pain met him at every turn.

_Three more minutes_.

His green eyes tiredly fell on a picture that sat on his desk, he had several in his office. He couldn't go very long without glancing at the smiling faces of his children or the waving of their small hands. He constantly relaxed in his chair, staring into the eyes of Ginny on their wedding day or her swollen belly from each of her pregnancies.

The door to Harry's office opened quickly, pulling him from his thoughts. His eyes flitted to the door way with worry but relaxed as he waved at his brother-in-law and best mate, Ron, who was holding a sleeping red-headed little girl in his arms with a grim look on his face.

"Ron! Lily! Only two more minutes left mate. I suppose Ginny couldn't wait for me any longer. Was it Albus or James this time?" asked Harry with a grin.

His sons were always causing trouble, especially his oldest. James had a knack for breaking things, causing mass destruction and breaking every rule his parents could come up with, along with convincing his younger brother to tag along. Albus was quieter, he tended to watch James more than mirror his actions because he usually ended up running for his parents whenever James got into serious trouble.

Harry missed the dark look on Ron's face as he jumped out of his chair, rushing to kiss his sleeping three-year-old daughter on the forehead.

"Albus is with Hermione—"

Harry grinned. "Ah, James then," he said with a soft chuckle. "I hope he hasn't drawn all over Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait again. Though the black curling mustache he gave him definitely gave him some character."

Ron scoffed as he switched Lily to his free shoulder. "As long as he isn't drawing beards on Auntie Muriel _again_."

Harry chuckled, but stopped as Ron gave him an annoyed look. Alive, Aunt Muriel had been a right pain, after she had passed away Ron had taken it the hardest out of all the Weasley's. He was constantly dusting her portrait. He hadn't appreciated James and his purple marker drawing a long beard and very full brows on his deceased Aunt.

"Listen, Harry—"

"Oh, the old bag deserved it," muttered Harry with a wink. "Look, can it wait? I have lunch in," his eyes darted to the clock again, "one minute."

Ron shook his head, whatever annoyance he had been feeling a moment ago was gone, instead his face was filled with worry. He opened and closed his blue eyes and took a deep breath before saying, "Harry, there's been an accident—"

Those words were every parent's worse nightmare.

Harry's heart stopped, his hand instantly flew to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead but he didn't feel any hint of pain. There were no flashes of danger, no memories haunting him of an awakening of Lord Voldemort. His free hand shook as he searched for his wand, though he knew it was in his trouser pocket.

He gulped, staring into Ron's blue eyes and then at his sleeping daughter whose arms were tightly wrapped around Ron's neck for protection.

"What happened?" It hurt to speak. Harry's throat felt dry, as if he hadn't had anything to drink in days. "Is everyone alright? Ginny? Hermione? Molly? Arthur—"

"James," Ron whispered.

It felt like his world had stopped. As if the world had literally stopped moving and time had stopped going forward. The ticking of the clock was forgotten. Harry was certain his legs weren't going to be able to support him for another second. His hands fell on his shirt where his heart was beating erratically.

"What happened? Where is he? And Ginny? Where's Ginny? Where's my wand!"

His shouting made Lily wiggle in Ron's arms but she didn't wake-up as Harry searched for the wand he knew was tucked in his trouser pocket. There was a screaming in his ears, imaginary, but it felt just as real as when he used to hear his Mum right before she died.

He wondered if this is what his life would always be like. At that moment images of his wife and son filled his head. Decapitated, murdered by an ex-Death Eater, hit by a Muggle bus. The possibilities were endless.

His teeth chattered as Ron calmly watched him.

"He's fine, he's in St. Mungo's—"

Harry didn't associate 'fine' with 'St. Mungo's,' he was no longer listening to Ron as he tried to tell Harry the rest of the story. Images of his first-born son dying in a bed next to his crying Mum filled his head.

St. Mungo's was eerily white. Whiter than it was on normal days. Or maybe it was the fact that on normal days Harry Potter didn't have to visit St. Mungo's. On normal days he would have been laughing with his children right about now, feeding his daughter food while his wife filled him in on the adventures of their day.

"Mr. Potter, calm down!"

"Take me to my son!"

He had almost used the line: 'Do you know who I am?' When he appeared in St. Mungo's and the first person he had seen in lime green robes walked by him. He didn't care if there were other patients that needed to be helped. He didn't care if that particular Healer he had grabbed was on his lunch break.

The Healer nodded, and rushed down the corridor, leading Harry to a dimly lit room. He pushed past him, not bothering to thank him or even get his name. Instead, Harry took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst.

His heart leapt as he laid eyes on his six year old son, with his messy dark brown hair, looking alarmingly pale in the stark white bed he was laying down on, holding Ginny Potter's hand.

"Ginny—"

Ginny Potter turned her head at the voice, eyeing her husband with a worried look on her face.

"He's fine. We're fine. Just a bump on the head."

But watching his son, so small in the bed, he didn't look fine.

James, James Sirius Potter, his first child. He remembered when he was born, constantly went over the day in his head. He had cried with every push Ginny had given during labor.

Harry took a deep breath as he walked over to the bed, trying to calm himself down. He gave Ginny's shoulder a quick squeeze and then reached to grip his wife and sons intertwined hands.

But as he reached, James pulled away, a look of fear on his face, startling Harry.

Ginny gulped, nervously she eyed her husband, an apologetic look on her face. She looked quickly away, unable to handle the pain in Harry's deep green eyes and smiled softly at her son.

"Sweetie, I'm going to talk to Daddy, alright? We'll just be right outside."

But James called out, making both Harry and Ginny jumped. A shrill, "No! Don't leave me!" As he let go of his Mum's hand to grip onto her white arm and tug her towards him.

Harry wasn't sure he was breathing anymore. He was certain he must have been in a dream. He had never seen his eldest son so scared. He wasn't this scared when he fell off his starter broom and broke his arm or when he tried to give Albus up as peace offering to the garden gnomes that ran around outside The Burrow.

"What happened?" whispered Harry, from the corner of his mouth.

Ginny shook her head and then pulled out her wand with her free hand, casting a quick 'Muffliato,' so her son wouldn't hear her.

She didn't let go of James's hand as she said to her husband in a strained whisper, "It's all my fault. I'm a terrible Mum—" Her voice cracked as she used her free hand to place on her mouth, to muffle the cry that was trying to escape.

"No, you're not," Harry said, without hesitation. He gripped her shoulders, trying to calm her down.

"I didn't realize, we're always so careful. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she said, leaning on her husband, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I forgot how close it is to the anniversary…the press was everywhere. Crowding in and…his hand slipped from mine…it happened so quickly and they ambushed him and…"

Harry swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat as Ginny continued her story. He fell, cut his head and cried as the reporters flashed their lights in his eyes and bombarded him with question after question.

It was if time had stopped as Ginny had tried to get to her son, rushing through the crowd, pushing reporters out of the way and screaming.

They were like animals closing in on their prey.

They asked him:

_How did it feel to know his father was a hero?_

_To know he had defeated Lord Voldemort?_

_To know he threw people in Azkaban._

Harry shook, his body filled with rage. "No."

"I couldn't get to him quick enough, the way they described his eyes. The hollow look, the slits for his nose…"

They asked him about his Uncle, about how he felt about the death…

"Enough," commanded Harry, silencing Ginny. He couldn't breathe as he stared at his son who was frowning in his bed.

He had tried to protect him, all his children from the press. They had never explained to them about the war, Albus and Lily were too young. With James they hadn't tried either, he was only six, they didn't want that on his shoulders.

From the day he was born they had both agreed there would be no talk about the past, not until they were ready for school, a separate conversation for each of them. They wouldn't go anywhere with their kids when there were large gatherings unless they had security or the protection of the extended family.

But James had proved difficult as he started to get older. With James it was trial and error. He was always running off when he wasn't supposed to, he was always getting into trouble but Harry and Ginny had always been able to protect him.

Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her free hand and whispered to her husband, "We have to talk to him, it's time."

Harry nodded, a silent agreement. The spell was lifted and James's eyes were filled with questions as he stared at his father.

What had scared him the most was that word, _Azkaban_, he had only heard a few times before. When he had asked his Mum what it was, she had told him it was where they put bad people when they did _really_ bad things but no one deserved to go there.

"James," began Harry, but his son cut him off, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you really put people in…" He couldn't say the word. His face fell and his brows knit together, trying to understand something he couldn't comprehend.

"Yes," said Harry, reaching forward again to grab his hand.

James trembled slightly but let his father touch him, the anger in Harry's eyes vanishing, going back to the normal kindness James was used to seeing.

"But why?"

"There was a war," answered Ginny. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She could barely speak, not wanting anyone to walk by and overhear their conversation.

"War?" Her son questioned, wrinkling his nose. It was a word that was foreign to him, unknown like so many others.

"You know," Harry paused trying to think of the best way to approach the topic, "how Mummy always reads you bedtime stories?"

James nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. His Mummy _always_ read him a story, about Quidditch and Hogwarts, stories filled with adventure.

"Is she going to read me one now?" he asked, voice filled with excitement.

Harry couldn't help but grin. "No, but this is like a story too. Scoot over," he commanded softly, moving his son so he could lay next to him. Ginny stood up, laying on the other side of his son, the two creating a protective barrier for him. "You're a smart boy, you remember all about Quidditch."

James's brown eyes flickered with excitement. "_Duh_. I'm going to be Gryffindor's Captain when I go to Hogwarts."

Ginny grinned. "I don't doubt that, like Quidditch, many years ago there was a war, and there were two separate teams."

"Did the teams have names?" he asked, his interest piqued.

Harry nodded. "Some say it was good versus evil."

"Who were the players?"

It was Ginny's turn to answer. She inhaled, closed her eyes, memories washing over her, and exhaled, opening her eyes to look into the questioning eyes of her son. "Mummy, Daddy and the rest of the family were on the good side and not so nice men and women were on the bad side."

"But what made them _bad_? Did they make fun of others?"

Harry bit his lip. Did he tell his son about that awful word, _mudbloods_? Did he explain the Dark Mark and the green spark of the killing curse? How the color would haunt him for the rest of his life?

"Yes, they did actually," he responded quickly. "They called each other names, not so nice names so people fought."

"So, you put the bad ones in Azkaban?"

"Yes."

James frowned. "But Mummy said that's where bad people go but no one should go because it's too bad and…"

He was rambling. Harry wasn't paying attention to the argument that his son was trying to win. He didn't want to look like the bad guy but he didn't know how to explain that some people deserved it and some people didn't.

Was he supposed to mention Sirius? Explain that his middle name comes from the godfather that Harry lost to Azkaban and then by the hand of a Death Eater? Was he supposed to talk about Hagrid and his small stay at Azkaban?

"That's true James," whispered Ginny, trying to smooth his messy hair, "but the thing is, back then, a lot of people used to be in Azkaban. It's someplace you never want to be."

"Why?"

Harry paused and thought for a moment. "Well, it's cold," James shivered, "and it's always dark," and then James whimpered," and no one laughs." James stared at his father, horrified.

"But…but…"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm confused. They said words…death…and my Uncle and…"

Ginny took a deep breath, staring at her husband with a pained expression. She couldn't form the words. She didn't want to talk about her brother. How could she explain someone so wonderful to James in a conversation that was filled with woe?

But at that moment Harry realized what the conversation was really about. What they really needed to explain to James. It wasn't about the war, it was the after effects. It was about death and about what comes after.

"Uncle George had a brother named Fred," Harry said simply.

"But Freddie—"

Ginny slowly opened her mouth, the words rushing out like a waterfall, "Freddie is named after Uncle George's twin brother, he was my brother too and he's your Uncle too. During the war," she paused, remembered her brother for just a moment, "a woman hurt him...a very bad woman and he died."

James nodded but he didn't quite understand. His big brown eyes stared at his Mum's soft face and he innocently asked, "So, where is Uncle Fred now?"

"I…Harry."

Harry reached over to softly touch a strand of Ginny's red hair. "He's gone James," he stared into the eyes of Ginny and not his son, trying to estimate the pain in her eyes. "He died."

"Died?"

"It means…his body stopped working," he said, hollowly.

The three stayed silent for a few good minutes before James started to wiggle in between his parents, waiting for more of an explanation.

"But when will it start working again? Can't you fix it?"

Harry shook his head. "No. You can't."

A look of fear appeared on James's face and he reached for the hands of both his parents.

"Will my body stop working?"

"No," Ginny answered strongly, "not for a long time. Remember when we talked about magic and there are good spells and bad spells?"

James nodded, still not letting go of their hands. "Good spells can help you and make you happy, like when Dad does the cleaning spell when Mummy tells him to clean the dishes, the Muggle way."

Harry laughed at the sour look Ginny gave him and grinned sheepishly.

"And bad spells are the ones that hurt people," James finished.

Ginny nodded her head in agreement. "A bad spell hit Uncle Fred and many other people, that's why Daddy put a lot of people in Azkaban."

"Are all the baddies gone, Mummy?"

Ginny grinned. "Most of them, yes."

James opened his mouth to say something but then paused. He didn't like the sound of 'most of them.'

"Will the others get you? Or me? Or Dad? Or Albie and Lilbie?" Sadness filled his eyes as the thought of his baby sister and little brother being called names and getting hit with spells that hurt them.

Harry shook his head and ruffled James's hair, a warm smile on his face. "As long as we're around, no one will ever hurt you."

With that confirmation, James gave both his parents a small hug before lying back down between them.

**Author's Note:**** What a fluffy piece! This was for a challenge, originally I was going to write a humor fic about James and his first loose tooth but I really liked this (I'll probably write the tooth one in the future too though). This was for the "Firstborn Moments Challenge," and I decided to make it the first time Harry and Ginny explained what war is to James and what death means. Kind of morbid, I know, but I hope you liked it. Thanks so much for reading, don't forget to review!**


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